


the gf files

by rosielibrary



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Action/Adventure, Aliens, and there's no gore i promise, brief mention of torture on the reader's part but it's pretty small
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 22:52:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16842049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosielibrary/pseuds/rosielibrary
Summary: ford, dressed like fox mulder from the x files: aliens(word of warning: this fic is from 2015 and unedited!)





	the gf files

Business always slows to an almost standstill in fall. The Mystery Shack is a summer gig, and once the kids have gone back to school and the parents to work, you and your boss are stuck reorganizing the monogrammed mugs in alphabetical order. 

Or, well, you are. He’s elsewhere, as he usually is in the middle of the day. Asshole. 

You’re looking through the three different A mugs in your hand when the vending machine clicks on a hinge and swings open, and you turn around, almost dropping the “Alex” mug when you see a man’s silhouette emerge behind it. 

"Hello, Mister Pines,“ you greet, figuring it was your boss and turning back to the mug stand. “New attraction downstairs?" 

"Something like that,” says a different voice to the one you expected, and you swallow, looking up and through the window’s reflection. 

Stanford Pines (or Ford, as Stan refers to him as) stands behind you, a six-fingered hand running through his hair. You’ve only met him a few times via Stan, and once by yourself, when some sort of very short man with a red hat came into the Shack and he managed to save you from getting married to it. (Long story that apparently happened to his great-niece over the summer.) He’s interesting, but you don’t know much about him. He’s smart, he’s Stan’s brother, and he’s handsome, but you weren’t telling anyone about that last part. 

“Oh, um. Sorry, I thought you were–" 

"It’s alright,” he replies quickly, his mind obviously in a different place. He pulls out a dark red book and flips through the pages, reading over one carefully. 

"Is something the matter, sir?“ 

Your question is answered by silence until Stanford realizes you’re talking to him. 

"Well, I guess I can tell you,” he mutters to himself, and he turns his book around, showing you the double page spread of a drawing of one of the two cliffs overlooking Gravity Falls– the ones with triangular cracks through both of their bases. 

“What do you think caused those?" 

You put the mugs down on the stand and focus on the book, squinting at the pages. "An earthquake, maybe? They’ve always been like that. They must have enough support from the bottom to be able to stand with such huge gaps broken into them." 

"True,” Stanford agrees, but he points at the page again. “An earthquake wouldn’t make such a perfectly symmetrical break in both cliffs, though, wouldn’t you think? Think about the shape, think about the space in between both of them." 

The drawing doesn’t show the space between, so you grab a postcard from the stack on the cash register, one that shows both cliffs and the bridge connecting them both. It vaguely looks like– Oh, no way. 

"It’s… A spaceship,” you say quietly, and Stanford nods at you proudly. “But– But that’s not possible, it can’t be!" 

"Oh, but it must be, mustn’t it?” Stanford snaps his book shut and tucks it into his coat. “A UFO made those cracks, of course. But where’s the UFO?" 

"The cracks are really low down,” you muse, tracing the page with your finger. “So it must’ve… Crashed?" 

Stanford beams at you, and you smile back bashfully. This was probably the most communication you’d had with him ever, and it was about aliens. Of course. 

"Exactly! I’ve visited it before, but I heard something last night so I have to investigate it." 

"You’ve visited it—? Mister Pines–" 

"Just Ford, please." 

"Ford, then. But that’s impossible, aliens aren’t–" 

"What if I could prove it to you?” Ford stares at you, eyes wide. “What if I could prove that the UFO buried under town is real?" 

You stare right back, a brow raised. "Then… You get to choose what happens after that, I guess,” you decide, and you swear you’ve never seen an old man move so quickly. 

“Come on then! I’ve got aliens to show you!" 

Ford leads you out of town and past the cliffs, the bridge looming over your heads as you walk under. You climb up a hill and you’re breathing heavily (physical exertion was never your forte) but Ford looks untouched by the long walk, stopping at the top of the hill with his hands on his hips. 

"Here we are!" 

"How the hell are you not exhausted?” The question is muttered under your breath but Ford laughs at you, rolling his eyes. 

“Lots of practice,” he says, and he stomps a foot on the hill— it makes a clanging noise beneath the grass that you certainly didn’t anticipate, and he pushes a rock aside, leaving a rectangular silver plate in its wake. 

“You don’t have fillings or anything, do you?” 

You answer his... bizarre question with a dubious tone, and Ford quirks a brow at you. It's obviously a fairly normal matter to him.

“Well, stand back a little—“ He pulls out a short, cylindrical gun and aims it at the ground. The trigger’s pulled and the metal plate peels away from the grass around it, revealing a hole that goes too deep for you to see from the top. Ford stuffs the gun back behind his coat (into a holster, you think) and hops down into the hole, grabbing at the ladder. 

“There’s not been aliens in here for millions of years. I think. I used to come here all the time with my colleague back in the day, scavenging for parts.” 

You swallow, looking behind Ford at the dark space into the hole. “If I get abducted, it’s your fault,” you tell him, and he snorts before scaling down the ladder, you following soon after. He drops to the bottom with a clang and steps aside for you, walking forward towards a large metal column. 

“The main hub of the spaceship is down here,” he explains, pointing down to where you guess the bottom of the pole is. You move to stand at his side and look down, deciding to scoot back from the edge. Yikes. 

"And how do we get down there, jet packs?“ You stare at Ford incredulously, watching him pull the gun out again. 

"I only have the one magnet gun, so.” Ford raises a brow at you in question and you nod for him to continue, but he positions the gun to point straight ahead, his finger on the trigger. He circles an arm around your waist, pulling you into his chest, and the floor disappears from beneath your feet. Scrambling to clutch to his shoulders, the two of you scale down the pole in a spiral and land at the bottom with weak knees, on your behalf. 

"Are you alright?“ Ford turns to you as you press your back into the pole, breathing heavily. 

"I just– I need a minute.” You grip your knees and suck in a breath, glad to have your feet on the ground again. Not to say you didn’t enjoy swooping down here with his hand gripping your hip tight. That was… Pretty nice, now that you thought about it. The fact that Ford looks unfazed by it makes him even more attractive to you in that moment, and you shake your head, willing yourself out of those thoughts. You’ve had them before in your short moments with Ford, admiring his intelligent air and small, shy smiles. Not to mention he was significantly more built that Stan was, his physique hidden beneath his hundreds of layers, making you wonder what exactly was– 

“Did you hear that?" 

You’re pulled from your stupor when Ford stands in front of you, brandishing his magnet gun (which doesn’t help you in any case ‘cause dear god that’s hot too, what the hell). About to reply that you heard nothing, you wait, and the sound he must’ve been talking about happens again– a loud clanging of metal against metal, scraping and screeching together. 

"You said everything down here was dead!” You hiss, poking his back. Ford flinches and shrugs, but he’s nervous, evident by his shaking hands. 

“I said probably,” he admits, cautiously stepping forward and towards the noise. You follow soon after, a new sound making you grab onto the fabric of his coat in fear. Ford looks over his shoulder at you and you catch a glimpse of a blushing red cheek, but it was probably your imagination. Probably. 

What happens next is unfortunately real. 

The two of you turn the corner to find a tall creature bent over what looks like a controls hub, long arms reaching behind an abandoned panel. It’s navy blue in color, almost like the night sky, dotted with white freckles like stars on its body. The creature stands up and turns around, its large eyes blinking at you blankly. 

“Stanford Pines.“ 

"I recognize you,” Ford says quietly. “Have we met before?" 

"Dimension 52 is large, but Earth is remarkably small,” the creature says, and Ford inhales sharply. 

"Machiavellian.“ 

"The earthen translation, at least." 

Machiavellian breaks into an alien language that must be their real name, but they seem to offer Ford a smile, their teeth pointed and dark purple. 

"Do you know what the Earth name means?" 

"Villain,” you pipe up, remembering it from your literature class. “Someone so bent on getting what they want, they’d do anything for it." 

"You never mentioned you had a friend, Stanford Pines,” Machiavellian muses, and their almond-shaped eyes, black and glossy, fall on you. “Younger than you. Fond of you." 

Ford flinches and you duck your head. He puts an arm in front of your chest, shielding you from the alien, who’s staring at you in thought. 

"Why are you here?” Ford demands, and Machiavellian seems to laugh, but the sound is almost too large to be defined in such a small word. Their eyes roam across the decrepit spaceship reverently, their arms folded behind their back. 

“My species are dying, Stanford Pines,” they begin. “Andromeda’s Kind are a small group. Our planet is invaded almost daily. I have decided it is our turn to be the invaders." 

They look down at a tangle of electrical cords, their foot prodding at them carefully. 

"I found this planet to be acceptable living standards, along with having a spaceship ready for us, despite some technical difficulties. The species that invaded before us were very, how you might say, behind on the times when it came to technology of spacecraft. I am here to take this craft, renovate it, then return to my planet and revive Andromeda’s Kind on Earth." 

"I thought Dimension 52 was your home,” Ford answers, a bead of sweat forming on his temple. “You were happy there, weren’t you?" 

"My species need help, Stanford Pines,” Machiavellian persists, picking up the ball of knotted cords and beginning to pick at it. “My home planet is unsuitable for them now. Dimension 52 is far too advanced, too populated. They would not survive there." 

"Find another dimension, then!” Ford surges forward, cutting the air with his hand. “This is our home, Machiavellian. I’m sorry other cultures invade yours, but that doesn’t mean you have to retaliate in this way." 

"You have never seen a planet be invaded,” Machiavellian says, their voice louder. “You have not seen someone you care for be threatened to death if you do not comply." 

The alien looks to you, their purple teeth glinting in the faint light. 

"Let me demonstrate." 

You stiffen and you find yourself unable to move, an indigo hue of light encircling your body as you’re lifted from the ground. A searing pain envelopes you, your scream echoing around the spaceship, your eyelids winced shut and unable to see Ford’s anguished face. 

"Let them go!" 

His voice is faint, the blood pounding in your ears drowning him out. Your head involuntarily tips back and the burning intensifies, your hands clamping around your ears. So much noise, so much hurt. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes and Machiavellian’s booming cackle is all you hear, another scream ripped from your chest, your throat dry. 

"I have to see this every day, Stanford Pines! Imagine seeing the ones you love in such pain, such anger, such sorrow, and you are unable to do anything about it! I want–" 

They’re cut off by Ford tackling them to the ground, and you fall soon after, cradling your legs into your chest. You gasp, the air filling your lungs too quickly and making you cough, but you turn your head slowly to see if Ford is alright. 

He and the alien are battling it out on the floor, the sound of Ford’s fist connecting with Machiavellian’s apparently hard flesh and the alien’s teeth sinking into his shoulder followed by a sudden button’s click, and Machiavellian laughs, making you wince and cover your ears again. 

"I gather you know of the security system on this craft,” they say loftily, kicking Ford to the side. “But your little friend over there doesn’t." 

A large orb floats into the room, scanning Ford and Machiavellian. Ford goes to yell something but the alien kicks him again, stopping his sentence halfway through. Don’t feel what? 

Machiavellian picks you up again, the purple light surrounding your body. "It really is a shame it has to end as such,” they say sarcastically (how do aliens know sarcasm?), black eyes flooding emerald. The pain returns instantly and you howl, clutching at your stomach as the sensation of being ripped in two flows through you. 

“Now, Stanford Pines, you will feel how I have for many years. How seeing my family taken away has turned me to this." 

Ford stands, blood staining through his coat from his shoulder wound, and he has a bruise forming on his chin. He calls your name but you can’t hear him, Machiavellian’s rumbling laughter in your ears as you cry out in pain. 

"These machines do not know hurt. But they know fear." 

Judging by the orb’s frantic beeping, it’s scanned you last. It splits open and three long tendrils escape from the gap, headed straight towards your ankles– 

Until Ford pushes Machiavellian in front of you and it grabs him instead. The alien manages a quick "Wha–” before they’re pulled to the floor, and you brace for hitting the ground again yourself, but Ford manages to catch you before you do so, and you watch the orb swallow Machiavellian and magenta lights flash on the screen above it. The alien pounds at the glass, the ceiling shifts, the metal groaning against moving after so long, and the orb disappears into the sky, the ceiling moving back into place soon after. 

Ford gently places you down on your feet and you sit on the floor, your arms still wound around your middle. 

"Security pod,“ he explains breathlessly. "It’s taking him to– to an alien prison for breaking and entering. Almost got me a few months ago, but my nephew… My nephew was extraordinarily brave. I hope he’s alright." 

You stay quiet, and Ford sits down at your side, gingerly placing his arm over your shoulders. You turn into him and lean against his chest, and he rubs your back carefully. 

"I’m sorry,” he says under his breath after a minute. “I’m sorry they put you through that. I didn’t realize–" 

"It’s over now,” you sigh, closing your eyes. “They’re gone. You did what you could." 

Ford’s hand stops at the small of your back and the two of you sit there for a few moments, regaining your strength. You lift your head up and meet his gaze once you feel ready to, and you smile at him weakly. 

"You win." 

"What?" 

"You proved to me aliens exist.” You laugh quietly, and Ford almost looks upset. 

"At that cost… But still. You believe me now, of course.“ Ford shakes his head and stands up, helping you to your feet and steadying you with a hand at your hip. 

"So what do you want your prize to be?" 

Ford raises a brow. "Excuse me?" 

"For winning the bet,” you continue, and Ford looks to his shoes for a moment. 

“I don’t have anything in particular. You can choose." 

You grin– perfect answer– before standing up on your toes and gently kissing his cheek, your hand at his shoulder. Ford’s gone as red as his sweater when you pull away, and you turn away in fear of his reaction. 

"In all honesty, I was probably going to ask for that, but I didn’t know how to say it myself.” His reply makes you jump and you look to him with a snort of laughter, resting your head on his shoulder. 

"Happy to help.“ 

He takes the much easier route up to the top (the whole scaling down the pole thing was to impress you, apparently, as well as being quicker) and you head back to the Shack on tired feet. When Stan comes searching for you to restock bobbleheads, he finds you and Ford asleep on the sofa in his room, your legs across his lap and your head on his shoulder, his arm draped over your lap. Stan sighs but finds a blanket to cover you both with, leaving a note on the door saying you had to work through lunch tomorrow to pay for your sudden break.


End file.
